


My Home is Your Home

by TaeAelin



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: A lot of flowery language, Affection, Best Friends, Brotherly Affection, Caretaking, Elves, F/M, Fantasy, Fever, Fluff and Humor, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Foreshadowing, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Lindir is all prim and proper, M/M, Mirkwood, Mirkwood elves being goofy dorks, Multi, OT3, Other, Pre-Movie(s), Sickfic, Vulnerability, Walks In The Woods, but also the biggest dork
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 12:27:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4919572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaeAelin/pseuds/TaeAelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Lindir pays Tauriel and Legolas a visit, he isn’t quite prepared for the sightseeing adventure the wood elves had in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Mirkwood

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a _didn’t-ask-for-it BUT HERE LEMMIE DUMP THIS GOOP ALL OVER YOU_ gift for a fellow elfie.
> 
> Part 1: Deep dark wanderings through the most dangerous forest in Middle Earth.  
> Part 2: Whole lotta caretaking.

The air was thick and muddy, suffused with that moist, impregnating heat that spoke only of home. Moss swelled from each crevice of the wasting oaks, long creased and coiled to darkness, a luminous web of needles burgeoning toward a memory of filtered sunlight. Unfledged branches lashed over one another in pursuit of the canopy, even the tree roots seemed to be arching out of the soil, bracing their gnarled backs against the footfall of whomever passed above. It were as if everything in the Woodland Realm desperately reached for something, stretching everywhere and nowhere at once, never quite finding it.

Sweeping across the undergrowth, Tauriel’s tread fell soft as the snare of shadows over the leaves, just as fleeting. The same could not be said for Lindir, who, not for the first time that afternoon, found his foot graciously descending into some concealed dip in the ground, catching at the spongy edge and sending him reeling forward, arms flailing in every direction, almost taking Legolas down too as he attempted to steady the ailing elf, to no avail.

Knees and hands firmly planted in a hash of sodden leaves, Lindir resolutely wrenched himself back to his feet, pretending not to have noticed Tauriel’s outstretched palm to help. With an indiscernible sniff, he extricated several clods of earth from his garments as delicately as one might dust excess sugar from an almond cake. Clearing his throat, he resumed his composure, giving them both a look that needed no further elucidation. _It did not happen._

With a quiet dip of her head, Tauriel was well disposed to give this pretence her most valiant effort, had Legolas not been struggling to achieve even a semblance of one. Staring steadfast into the distance as if profoundly absorbed in ascertaining their bearings, his eyes had creased tellingly at the corners. Slowly, his mouth twitched into an unusual expression that reminded her of their first glass of Lake-town, the muffled choke that followed more reminiscent of their tenth. Hopelessly endeavouring to turn it into a cough, he glanced at Lindir apologetically.

“Perhaps, on the next occasion-”

“You would swap my robes for a ranger’s breeches? I should sooner be seen in nothing at all.” Plucking the last stray twig from his finely hemmed sleeves, Lindir let his hands fold to a neat clasp at his front, before giving a jolt that suggested he had taken hold of a bee instead. “Not that they don’t look ever so fitting when worn in the right manner of course!”

On seeing him so suddenly abashed, the last sliver of Legolas’s self-control dissolved. Buckling with amusement, he gave the slightly soiled Lindir a playful swipe at the arm, almost sending him unceremoniously back to the mud. Catching his balance by luck alone, Lindir recovered, took a wide step back and hung his head, directing a purposeful frown somewhere in front of Legolas’s boots.

“Please forgive my thoughtlessness. I am most grateful for your company and this tour through your homeland, however ill-prepared I have so far been for it.”

Tauriel wrapped him in a reassuring smile, there was no harm at all. In all fairness, she had worried the pervading forest was not agreeing with her more modest companion. Despite his assurances of delight, he had seemed ever more faded since arriving with the rest of the Rivendell party at daybreak, which no amount of vigorous sightseeing through the oldest and most impassable groves had seemed to shake. She had, however, like any chaperon worth her keep, saved the best for last. Offering her arm, she added a nod of encouragement on seeing him hesitate. Softening, he slowly linked his own within it, not quite sure how it all fit, yet not unwilling to try.

 

~

 

With the Mountains of Mirkwood waning at their back, they leaned to meet it head on, setting an uneasy pace through the spindling chaparral. It was often said those who knew of it would sense it before seeing it. And those who didn’t would feel it. Rolling northward at a beat near slower than a drip, it stagnated at each bend of the levee; insipid claws smarting above the cess, too heavy to crawl to the canopy. It seethed, corrupted and oppressed, every bit as dangerous as it looked.

“Some call it the black river” Tauriel whispered, the presence of the watery stranger pressing closer, ever listening. “For it looks that way, and is thus often recalled. But it is only the lingering shadows which imbue such a quality, and the murk that vies beneath.”

In truth, the gloom was hardly bound to the water. It seemed to permeate the very colour of the air, acrid and cloying, coaxing and repellent at once. The oaks, limbs long sunk in the frothy nectar, had ripened to shadows parched and scaled, branches wrung to sticky tendrils, grown unnaturally long. Logs lay haunted where they fell, damp inner flesh rotted to sinuous caverns, yet no creature would shelter within. The only visitor to their pitted husks was the occasional vein of russet lichen, the whisper-thin threads of an unhealed scar.

With Lindir’s arm still fastened through her own, she felt him give an imperceptible shiver. Returning a gentle squeeze, she wondered if the remaining tales and treacheries of the stream might be better left unspoken. As if sensing her concern, Lindir made a decisive break from her side, mouth pressed to a grimace as he veered toward the mire of the embankment on his own, drawing adamantly closer to the leering fog. Arms hovering a fraction higher from his sides than his usual grace permitted, he looked back with staunch enjoyment, resolved to appear as carefree as possible whilst taking a rather determined hold on an overhanging stranglevine.

Legolas, meanwhile, had darted through a tangle of slip-roots, eluded the severed fork of a decaying beech and finished with an artful leap to a sizably twisted bough across the river, one of the few they knew to be sturdy. Dancing a few backward steps, he glanced at Lindir, who only ceased glaring upon noticing the trim of his robe had become caught in a thorny clump of bracken, and one of his heels was fast sinking in a somewhat squelching patch of sediment.

“Let me guess- Mirkwood’s favourite picnic spot?”

Grinning back, Legolas skipped a few more paces along the makeshift bridge, sending several withered splinters of wood fluttering to the viscid liquid below. Alighting at the surface, they seemed to bend the filthy film of water, caressing the unexplainable bubbles and mumbling to the depths below, already long suffocated by the haze.

“Perhaps one of our better known. That is, to those who can remember it. A single step in these waters will see you sleep for days. Two and you’ll not know you visited. A few more, and nobody else will either.”

With a distasteful glance at the ooze leeching toward his ankle, Lindir answered with a familiar roll of his eyes. “A jewel of the east indeed.”

Seeing him increasingly besieged, Tauriel carefully swept aside the clinging thicket with the edge of her boot, freeing Lindir’s robe before he could notice her nipping behind. Taking his hand, she led him on an easier albeit far less impressive route to the bough, which did nothing to prevent him from holding on rather firmly regardless.

As if noticing the very same, Lindir swiftly dropped his hand, looking decidedly contrite. “Forgive me- I mean, thank you. I assure you, I am quite fine.”

Stepping back, she considered him for a moment, a question balanced on the cusp of her inhale. Seeing the corners of his mouth pinched ever so slightly down, she smoothed the thought to a kind nod instead. Her gaze reaching over his shoulder, she took in the snow-caps beyond, a horizon of broken glass gouging the reddening skyline.

“Who would guess such desolation could ebb from our untroubled tradeway? This stream is but an offshoot of the Forest River, polluted long before history cared to remember it. Strange that something that began so pure is so easily dimmed. And, not all the magic of our kind can win it back.”

Lindir appreciated the distraction as he traversed the scores of the blackened oak, a treacherous ladder that cared not to trouble with the pretence of friendship. Reaching the turning point where the branch grew too heavy to support its own weight, he turned to her, one eyebrow hitched a fraction closer to his hairline.

“Even the elves cannot stem the turn of a tide. But truly, you know not the source of such a curse?”

Waiting till he had a firm footing, she grasped a hanging root, pulling until she felt the tension spring through its leathery spine. In a single fluid bound, she swung up beside him, landing on the narrow lip of the branch without need to gather her balance.

“Some say… I mean, it is only a murmur, a thought born of darker times. But there are some-” she hesitated, an almost guilty glance spilling toward Legolas as he waited patiently on the bridge beyond “-who believe it was us.”

Lindir stilled, a flicker of recognition passing just beneath his solemn stare. Her fingertips toyed with the belt buckle at her side. In spite of the dewy fog curling above the branches, the words had left her throat strangely dry, her doubts just as intangible.

Slowly, the crease at Lindir’s brow softened, and she couldn’t tell whether he raised a sleeve to aid what seemed to be an ever increasing sniffling, or to conceal a smile of amusement. Probably, she suspected, a measure of both. Somewhat mended, he let the arm fall neatly to his side, one corner of his mouth snagged conclusively higher than the other, his inhale still vaguely liquid.

He gave a fleeting wink. “Interesting. However, I doubt even the elves of Mirkwood could get into _that_ much mischief.”

Smirking back, she couldn’t help notice Legolas absentmindedly balanced on the tip of his boot as he tried to stretch toward a hanging seed pod, tipped precariously over the spitting vapours. Joining her with an incredulous stare, Lindir saw the other elf sway, flail widely back, then regain his poise as quickly as he lost it, grinning rather sheepishly on realising they were watching.

“Perhaps I spoke too soon. What I mean to say is, I doubt the elves of Mirkwood could achieve _that_ level of high sorcery.”

Raising both palms in yield as Tauriel jested to tip him off the bough with as little finesse as he had arrived, Lindir allowed himself to laugh, possibly for the first time since stepping foot in the forest. His breath seemed to catch on the humidity, and he tucked into his sleeve to muffle the coughing that followed, eyes watering apologetically as she looked on in sympathy.

“Pardon, pardon, I am so unused to the climate…”

Attempting to collect himself, he grazed the heel of one hand below his eyelids whilst holding the other at the centre of his chest, looking as drained by the incident as dismayed by the indignity of it.

“…please excuse me.”

Hearing the scraping note of remorse behind the formality, Tauriel felt the whole of her compassion go out to him, hardly noticing she had been rubbing his back until he flicked his stare toward her, unreadable.

Recalling herself, she drew away a touch too rapidly, the heel of her boot stepping backward through a branch that wasn’t there, the rest of her swiftly following.

It was a curious feeling, being so suddenly weightless. A single, sinking beat, and she felt almost still, suspended on nothing but the warm, wraithlike hands spiralling up from the chaos below. In a pinprick of silence, she saw Lindir, the last trace of a small, thankful smile, before his face crumbled in agony, his tortured shout ringing in her ears as the hands turned to talons, ripping her down.

As she plunged through the mist, a rush of movement shattered the vapid space above, quick as the flood of her pulse. A painful wrench at her shoulder and she jarred to a swinging halt, the foul air hissing to a desperate clutch at her ankles, her stomach still a knot below her ribcage. Doubled over the log, Lindir stared down in horror, one hand fiercely clutched at her wrist, the other stretching as far as he could reach.

So aghast was his expression that she could almost have smiled, had the sincerity of his despair not near broke her heart. To be fair, given the saturation of the surrounding steam, it was hardly his fault for not realising they were not in fact over the river yet. But, feeling it was entirely the wrong moment to tell him, she caught hold of his free hand instead, allowing him to haul her up to straddle the branch in front of him.

“…Good catch.”

She barely caught a glimpse of his disbelieving frown before he threw both arms around her, pinning her own at her sides and pressing his face into her neck, clinging so tightly that she could scarce breathe, let alone move. Then, just as quickly, he released her, clearing his throat and busying himself with brushing stray pieces of loose bark from his robes.

“I am simply glad you are safe.”

He sounded spent enough that she very near swept him into a hug of her own, had Legolas not tumbled to his knees at her side, hair spilling over his shoulders and catching in his mouth as he tried to speak. Barely able to gather his voice to more than a shallow gasp, his eyes made a wild search for any sign she were hurt, fraught with panic or relief she could not tell.

Bringing her hand to his face, she smoothed her fingertips across his cheek, gently collecting the mess of upset strands and tucking them behind one ear, then the other. Holding still, his jaw was clenched firm enough that she might hardly have noticed the tremble. His exhale somewhat uneven, he let his gaze fall to her lap, heavy as that which he couldn’t make into words.

Leaning forward, she had an arm curved snugly around him before he could make a second attempt. “My friend, the only fault was my own.”

Drawing him against her shoulder, she held on slightly longer than may have been necessary, though he didn’t pull away.

Hearing a low sniffle from Lindir, she turned, hoping the poor elf was not somehow capable of unseating himself even whilst wrapped round the log with both legs. Far from the case, she instead found him blinking into the ebbing sunset somewhat miserably, a thumb and forefinger firmly pinched at the bridge of his nose.

Peering over the dread fast welling at his eyes, his other hand shifted to his pocket, finding only a couple of dried leaves and the remains of a ripped seam that sprang halfway round the edge. Looking thoroughly defeated, he cupped the hand firmly under his nose instead, trying at once to turn away and keep his balance, resulting only in sneezing into the side of her lap rather than the middle of it. Trembling into a second breath, Lindir’s eyebrows creased to anguish, his mouth tipped haltingly ajar. Quickly redirecting himself into the crook of his arm, he held the back of his sleeve with his free hand, pressing himself as securely as possible into the material as the fit continued.

 _“Blessings”_ Legolas breathed, his voice weighted with as much kindness as surprise, coursing the inside of his tunic for a stray handkerchief and looking rather taken aback to actually come upon one.

“Pardon, please excuse me!” the exclamation half-doused by his sleeve, Lindir released the hand at his arm to accept the offering, twisting as far aside as possible whilst attempting to recollect his composure.

With growing concern, Tauriel realised the back of his garment had a received modest injury too, the silk gashed from the elbow to his shoulder, a lighter shade of blue peeking sadly from the ruined cobalt. The rest of him looked no better for the jaunt. Mud had soaked his boots beyond salvation, and a wider variety of foliage clung to the hem of his outer cloak than she realised grew in the vicinity.

Her gaze climbing in the direction of the various scuffs, she found his dark hair plastered wetly at his neck, cheeks flushed beyond what even the smog of the forest could hope to achieve. Seeing him cringe whilst blowing his nose; realising it fell far short of dignified; she couldn’t help feel her welcome plans had gone somewhat awry.

Gathering his bearings, Lindir gave a slight shake of his head, hastily crumpling the handkerchief into his robe as he turned back to her. He gave what could almost have been an affectionate smile.

“On second thoughts, I feel I may be in need of one of your mountain ranger costumes sooner than I expected.”

With a sly pinch his arm, she allowed him the last word. Casting a meaningful frown to Legolas, she saw him return a knowing dip of his head. Standing, he took an elegant leap from the bough, landing faultlessly at the base of the tree and stretching his hand up to Lindir with an expression that brooked no disagreement. Staring down in surprise, the elf hesitated, then clambered haphazardly to his feet. Taking a firm hold of Legolas’s palm, he stepped neatly to the bank with all the poise he could muster, looking distinctly relieved to feel the forest floor beneath him, however marshlike.

Assured that no twigs or hollows could possibly assail their ever more shivery companion, Tauriel saw Legolas glance back up at her, just as she was ready to vault down herself. He held just close enough should he need to catch her, even though they had made the jump near as many times as seen sunsets. She wavered, then slowly reached both arms out to him instead.

It took a moment for Legolas to comprehend the meaning of her action, but then, with the smallest of smiles, he brought his arms up to her. Placing her own at his shoulders, she slipped forward until he held her at the waist, lowering her effortlessly down in front of him and looking strangely touched by the gesture.

Spilling to a fond grin, she leant in for a last squeeze round his chest. He answered by wrapping both arms under her own, almost lifting her from the ground in equally tight hug back. Bundled over Legolas’s tunic, she couldn’t help noticing that in barely a minute, Lindir, in all his stoic patience, had managed to wander a fair way off in the wrong direction. Hearing her gasp, Legolas whirled around, hastily running to catch up.

“Easy, easy” he muttered, slipping Lindir’s arm over his shoulders. “Let’s save the road to _Dol Guldur_ at least for your second day, _acha?_ ”

“Truly, it would not be the proper custom to delight you with all the treats of the Woodland Realm at once” Tauriel added, jogging to Lindir’s other side, helping to steady him with an arm around his waist as they made their way back to the Forest Path.

Despite his somewhat hazy sense of the horizon, she had to commend Lindir’s effort at managing to look superbly affronted and grateful at once.

“Indeed” he mumbled, gazing back wistfully at the discarnate shafts of light; the bloodless, seeping tide fast fading behind them. “I do so wish we’d made it over that bridge though. Tomorrow?”

 

~


	2. Here for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lindir wakes up in the Halls of Thranduil, much worse for the wear. Tauriel and Legolas do their best to take care of him, with a few hiccups along the way.

By the time Lindir came round, the verdurous strumming of the forest had been replaced by the snap of a fire, the web of a blanket at his shoulders. He sat bolt upright, causing Tauriel to flinch in surprise, nearly dropping the cloth she had been distilling in cold spring water to return to his forehead.

Taking a reckless glance around Legolas’s chamber, Lindir tore himself from the covers, jerking free his arms and staring at his new leaf-coloured tunic in horror.

“Did I fall in the enchanted river after all? I remember nothing of the last few days!”

Unable to keep a straight face, Tauriel found herself wishing they might have been a little less zealous in the telling of that particular tale.

“ _Ach,_ no, of course not. We have been back less than an hour.”

The alarm easing out of his limbs, Lindir blinked a few times, eventually relenting to an amused frown despite the veil of sweat already returning to his brow. Leaning against the pillows Tauriel had rapidly assembled behind him, she wondered if he didn’t look more awkward trying to appear relaxed then with his arms outstretched in panic.

His attention slowly diverted to the bedside, Lindir took in the carefully arranged pitcher of water, an intricate flagon that one might imagine needed to be kept warm, and an even larger carafe of something she doubted he could guess. Adding to the collection, Legolas was making his way from the hearth carrying what appeared to be an enormous soup bowl, the steam disgorged from the surface uncomfortably reminiscent of the landmark from whence they came.

“This all happened… in an hour?”

The corner of his mouth tugged upwards, Legolas carefully placed the bowl in Lindir’s lap, keeping a hand at the side to steady it. “Was that a _compliment_ , Lindir?”

Pretending not to hear, the elf instead eyed the undulating concoction with mounting suspicion. Peering over, Tauriel couldn’t help acknowledge it did evoke a certain nostalgia for some of their more fragrant regional swamplands.

Grimly setting himself to an expression of appreciation, Lindir cupped both hands below the rim of the offering, scouting for a convenient spot to set it aside. “As tempted as I find myself, I seem to be, at this moment, not quite inclined toward-”

With a wry grin, Legolas stilled him with a gentle touch at his wrist. “It is to help you breathe, _la._ ”

Endlessly relieved, Lindir sniffed and lowered the bowl back down to his knees, sounding much in need of it. Tentatively leaning forward, he allowed a small portion of the indelicate steam to leak beneath the fall of his hair. With a shudder that inferred the remedy was as pungent as it was unsightly, he returned a grimace that suggested he wished he’d woken in up a weeks’ time after all.

Deciding such aid might be better received in small doses, Tauriel scooped up the bowl and set it out of reach, whilst Legolas reached for a warmed silver goblet instead.

“Now, _this_ is for drinking.”

With a mumble of thanks, Lindir accepted, taking a hasty gulp before Legolas could say another word. Looking mildly taken aback, Legolas stared while Lindir swallowed, then took a bleary gasp, eyes widening and immediately filling with tears.

“What by sea and stars is this!” he yelped, raising a sleeve to field a fit of coughing, the wounded abandon of it leaving Legolas patting his back rather helplessly. Lindir flicked his glare from one woodland elf to the other, confounded. “I feel I have drunk the very acid used to scour the corners of _Gundabad!_ ”

Smothering an ill-timed snort of amusement, Legolas swiftly relieved him of the drink. “It is just a little mulled wine, to-” he stopped on seeing Lindir’s eyebrows soar incredulously, trying at least to set the goblet somewhere less hazardous before he burst into all out laughter. “Are you alright?”

Appearing somewhat assuaged, or at least less absurdly agonised, Lindir gave a deep sigh, shaking his head despairingly. “As strange as it may sound to you both, there do in fact exist remedies where one might still walk in a straight line after.”

Whilst smirking in feigned seriousness, Legolas appeared mildly comforted by the familiar tone regardless. “Who said anything about remedies? I was merely trying to help you catch up before joining the Welcome Feast.”

Seeing Lindir’s disapproval turn to clear disbelief, Tauriel couldn’t stifle a hopeless grin. With a soft groan, he rolled his eyes.

“At least we are in agreement that my company at such a gathering would be rather poor. As…” he hesitated, smile ever so slightly falling “…I am sure it is now. Please. You should be greeting my kin, I assure you they are far more entertaining than I.”

“Oh no, you are entertaining plenty” Legolas winked, glancing at the half-consumed wine, adding a hasty “ _sorry…_ ” on seeing Lindir’s glower.

With equal affection, Tauriel inched close enough to nudge his elbow with her own. “Truly, though you may disagree, we would choose to be here with you. Even-” seeing Lindir on the cusp of a retort, she got to it first. “-if it means missing a party.”

Shaking his head, Lindir touched the inside of his wrist to his nose, looking faintly disquieted as he pressed against the side of his nostrils for barely a second, a faint click of wetness echoing on his inhale.

“Pardon. And I do disagree. But not more than I appreciate the sentiment.”

Sharing a discreetly pleased nod with Legolas, she reached for the slightly less onerous flagon, pouring a portion of the brew to a small ceramic vessel.

“Infusion of _lissuin._ ” Pinching the smooth sides of the cup with her fingertips, she extended it to him, careful not to let the liquid lap too close to the edges. “A tea.”

Steeling himself toward enthusiasm, Lindir accepted. Staring apprehensively at the surface, he let the steam graze the underside of his nostrils, squeezing his eyes in anticipation. A few harrowing seconds, and he exhaled in surprise. “Oh. It is just tea.”

Tauriel gave an amused smile, though, in truth, she could almost fathom why he might feel wary. Almost. With a guilty sniffle, he tried to appease her with a small sip, wincing as he swallowed, eyes watering.

“Slowly” she encouraged, seeing him search for an opportune space to set aside this latest offering too.

“Ngh… no…” he hesitated, eyelids flickering to panic as he took a quivering breath, the tea tipping dangerously in one hand, the other wavering as a makeshift saucer as he turned to sneeze as far from her as he could manage.

“Here…” she held her hands out for the teacup, rather impressed that not a drop had spilled despite it.

With a precipitous frown, he passed it to her over a shivery gulp of air, the warmth at his cheeks fast spreading to the tips of his ears as he tried to compose himself, without success.

Trying to help, Tauriel stretched for one of the folded handkerchiefs at the bedside, only realising she had accidentally grabbed three by the time she held them within his reach. Mid-sniffle, Lindir quirked an eyebrow at the sizable pile, before seeming to resolve, on this occasion, the situation may for once warrant the traditional Mirkwood excess.

Seeing him hesitate to blow his nose with both elves sitting barely an arm’s length away, Legolas became suddenly taken with an enthusiasm to tend the fire, striding over to the mantle and becoming most thoroughly absorbed in the task. Tauriel meanwhile busied herself with neatening the various fortified draughts collected at the bedside, bumping the accumulated vessels around more than a little noisily in the process. Taking a closer look over the cooling bowl of decongestant, she found herself wondering if Legolas had indeed been paying attention when they were shown how to prepare it.

Flicking a tiny glance back to the mattress, she saw Lindir staring at her rather gratefully, looking slightly comforted and faintly less leaky despite the blush at his nostrils. Shuffling beside him, she gave in to an urge to fix up the pillows behind his back. Whilst he sat somewhat rigidly, he made no protest, raising both arms as she moved on to the blanket, neatly tucking the edges around his waist.

Peering down at the delicate folds, Lindir looked almost regretful, before touching her hand with his own. “Thank you. Please forgive me.”

“ _Acha,_ it is nothing” Tauriel murmured, re-smoothing the pillows that had become dislodged. “We should let you get some rest.”

Seeing her drawing softly away, Lindir pushed himself a fraction more upright, his hands still a vague tremble at the blankets despite the soupishly warm chamber. His eyebrows hovered to a question, then, tangled in all possible words, wavered to soundless understanding. He acquiesced with a gentle dip of his head.

“Or-” she glanced at Legolas as he flopped back onto the bed. “I mean, we could always stay and amuse ourselves with a round of dice. Or cards, even. The fire’s already well-stoked in this room after all. If we wouldn’t be disturbing you, that is?”

Seeing Lindir’s twitch of surprise, Legolas hummed in agreement, adding a grave nod. “And we really shouldn’t let that mulled wine go to waste, now that I think of it. Probably wisest not to try to smuggle it from the chamber, it was hard enough getting it from the Feast Hall.”

Swallowing with difficulty, Lindir braced himself with his most solemn frown, crossing his arms in the least hopeful way possible. “Well, if you did wish to… I mean, only if it were more suitable for you both, of course…” he trailed off, glaring from one fond smirk to the other. “I am merely saying, if the opportunity should so present itself, I would indeed be willing to explore further cultural pastimes of the Woodland Realm. The less dangerous ones, that is.”

Looking genuinely taken aback, Legolas reached under the bed frame, locating a well-worn chest and setting it at the corner of the mattress. “Less dangerous hobbies? In Mirkwood?”

Withholding a knowing smile, Tauriel gathered two empty teacups for lack of more goblets, skilfully measuring out the spiced wine til it licked precipitously close to each brim.

“-you really haven’t been here long enough.”

 

~

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! (:
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome, or chat to me about elves on [Tumblr!](http://taeaelin.tumblr.com/)


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